When Galaxies Collide
by FanfictionVillainess
Summary: Andromeda Tonks makes a decision. She can only hope she won't regret it. Oneshot.


The room in the Leaky Cauldron is completely silent.

A heavy oak desk is empty, except for a bottle of rue. The cork on the bottle sits next to it, and steam still rises from the elixir. In the corner, a bed is shoved against the wall, and an open suitcase rests in front of it. Clothes and mementos are strewn around the luggage, carelessly abandoned. In the bed, a nineteen year old girl is lying quietly, staring at the ceiling. She is awake in the middle of the night, and hasn't slept for days.

Andromeda always imagined that she would have a miserable marriage. It happens to purebloods. But when she met Ted, she thought that – while they both aggravated each other time to time – she would be genuinely happy. Only a year ago, their two different worlds orbited in tandem, hormones surging and novelty of forbidden, sinful love compelling unorthodox union. But when it all came crashing down, galaxies collided and left both of them bound together and broken.

They only fight now. They're trapped in a house together, unable to leave for fear of being captured or killed for some sick bounty. And all she does is scream at him and drink, and all he does is argue with her and bring up her past crimes.

She never thought she would leave him.

_"What kind of husband won't admit he's wrong?"_

But three weeks ago she did.

_"What kind of wife keeps photographs of everybody she's fucked?"_

Andromeda sits up slowly, thinking about the petty argument that sent her packing. She picks up the little jewelry box on the foot of the bed, full of photos of half clothed people, usually giggling at the camera.

She picks them out one by one – everyone she slept with.

Two piles – ones who don't care, and ones who would kill her on sight.

She sets a large stack of Slytherin house boys who most likely don't remember her. They're left alone. Two she picks up are Death Eaters, and go in the other pile. A couple more not caring, a few more who supported purifying the wizarding race. She reaches in and pulls out one picture that makes her throat swell up.

It's Wesley Selwyn. She nearly loved him. He was twenty-five when she was seventeen, so it wasn't the best relationship. They would just get stoned and talk about life, and sleep with each other, and go to parties, and genuinely _live_. For months Andromeda has felt dead. But she hasn't been dead. She just hasn't _lived_.

She sets him in a pile of his own. People she should apologize to. After making that pile, she removes a few photographs from their piles and put them there.

Andromeda gets back to the sorting, working through people from age fourteen to age seventeen. There are too many of them.

_"Whores lie on their feet and they lie on their backs_."

She squeezes her eyes shut, trying not to think about Bellatrix's words. That bitch. That bitch that Andromeda loved so damned much.

As if on cue, Andromeda picks up the photograph she was afraid of. There she is – smooth, sleek, raven hair, thin ruby lips, dark eyes daring her to do anything stupid. Her perpetual condescending smirk is evident in the photograph.

And she thinks screwing mudbloods is sick.

Andromeda starts to put Bellatrix into the pile of people who would kill her on sight, but then stops. She turns to her side and puts the photograph of her most unholy sexual union into the apologize pile. Bellatrix is a cruel, sadistic, dominating bitch who sacrificed everything she ever cared about for someone she _loved _but barely _knew_. How she could love a man who abused her like that, Andromeda will never understand. How she could kill for that man, steal for him, lie for him, torture for him, _die for him_, Andromeda can't comprehend.

Maybe she's just selfish. That's possible.

She feels bile rising in her throat and stands up, stumbling to the en suite bathroom for the thousandth time. She leans over the sink as her stomach contracts and she feels acid shoot through her flesh. After hurling up everything in her stomach, she feels that odd butterfly sensation in her abdomen again.

Undesired tears swell in her chestnut eyes. She glances at the rue again, knowing it's the right thing to do. Andromeda can't make it in a world alone with a baby. She just can't. But secretly, she's weak. Deep down, she wants this baby more than anything.

It was an accident, clearly. She didn't know when she left Ted three weeks ago.

Bellatrix gave herself an abortion five years ago in the bathtub the three sisters shared. She tried to do it quietly, but screamed, and Andromeda walked in and held her hand as it happened. She was newly being railed by her master, almost engaged to another man, still living at home and not exactly mummy material. It was the right choice for she and the Dark Lord.

Andromeda always thought that if she had a child it would be a little girl, and she would name her Nymphadora. It's a silly name for a mudblood's child, but she really likes it. Hell, this is too complicated.

She lies back down on the bed and stares at the ceiling.

She wonders what the baby will be like. It better be a girl or she's getting rid of it. She can't decide on what color hair and eyes would be best. It's a shame there can only be one combination. What will she want to do with her life? Is she a cat person or a dog person? Will she actually clean, unlike her father? Will she be dumb enough to marry young and on impulse? Will she be as crazy as her mother's family or as boring as her father's family?

Andromeda sets her hand over the unborn baby and stands up. She walks to the desk and pours the rue out in the sink, letting it chase the vomit down into the sewage.

She can do this. But she can't do it alone.

And so, pathetically, she packs up and disapparates.

Ted opens the door and kisses her.

He's glad she's home.

She's not sure if she is.


End file.
